


behold, the grave of a wicked man

by cosmic strings (electrick)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrick/pseuds/cosmic%20strings
Summary: Ask his brother, his sister, or even his aunt Genna. The answer would be the same: Jaime Lannister is a man driven by love. His love is an ocean, covering the vast majority of land, but yet still unseen by so many other than a select few.





	behold, the grave of a wicked man

 

Ask his brother, his sister, or even his aunt Genna. The answer would be the same: Jaime Lannister is a man driven by love. One might be inclined to say his sister but Jaime knows that’s only the surface. His love is an ocean, covering the vast majority of land, but yet still unseen by so many other than a select few. 

 

Try with all his might for whatever it’s worth, he cannot remember the moment he knew he loved his sister. He remembers waking up in the morning as the sun shines on Cersei’s hair splayed across the satin silk of the pillows. It was the closest to magic he had ever felt at the ripe age of five years old, the sun illuminating the blonde strands in his hands, his green eyes staring back at him when she woke. They were the only two in the room, in the bed, in the world at that moment. 

 

Cersei consumes everything in her path, leaving little in her wake. The sacrifices he’s made for her — they’re monumental yet Jaime doesn’t think twice before doing. What else does he really have? Who else could he truly have once he’s been with Cersei? He sometimes think Cersei came into this world holding Jaime’s heart in the palm of her hand. He is consumed by her like a madman chasing after the shine of gold in the sun. Always within his grasp, but never being able to hold on. 

 

His love for Tyrion feels a little different. It is born out of a sense of belonging, responsibility and whatever little Cersei had left. The sense of duty in Jaime’s life begins with Tyrion. His father sets him down at the desk and the scent of hot wax and parchment fills the air. 

 

“You’re the eldest son of House Lannister. You must look after your family, and that includes _him_ ,” Tywin says to him. He stays next to Tyrion’s cradle until the ship from Dorne arrives and the septa has to drag him by the ear to meet the guests. Nothing will stop him, he thinks. 

 

Cersei debases Tyrion as she calls him names of demons in stories to her maids. He turns the other cheek because she never says anything to him. How can she when she spies Jaime spending more hours next to him, less with her? He doesn’t want to play their games in front of Tyrion, he decides. At some level, there is a sense of discordance when they’re not actually the only two in the room, but he chalks it up to the addition of their newest sibling and it feels only slightly better if they’re alone again. 

 

The day Jaime wields a sword is the day he feels most alive. It reminds him of the magic from his childhood. He swears he can feel the blood rushing through his veins as he swings the sword and it feels even more magnificent when he knocks down the stable boy with the tourney sword. The castellan applauds and Jaime knows he will spend the rest of his life chasing this thrill. 

 

And he does. He squires for Lord Summer Crakehall who teaches him how to hold a longsword properly. His palms burn with a fire as they clasp the grip and he hoists it above. From then on, it’s tourneys and melees until Harrenhall which is the greatest day of his life until it’s not. King Aerys knights him and the sword on his shoulder grounds his heart back down to the dirt ground underneath his knee. Cersei cries in the same shoulder when she says Aerys refused her for Rhaeger and how can Jaime feel so elated when Cersei is in tears over her lost chance? It’s unfair for Jaime to fulfill his dream of being a knight while Cersei must settle for being a Lady of some castle elsewhere. 

 

Until he sees the truth behind the hymns and songs of castle halls only to realize knighthood is a sham. And it brings shame to him, to the young buy with a wooden sword. The first time Aerys uses wildfire in the hall, Jaime’s eyes widen as the green flame gleams from his eyes and he’s shell shocked. What kind of cruel man would inflict this level of pain? He glances at Aerys’ faceand he reaches a conclusion of sorts: only a madman can look this content through the screams and the stench of death. It’s what keeps him going — the fact that he must be some sort of sane compared to Aerys but he’s within his duty to the madman, the same duty Tywin promised of him. What else does he have left if not his duty? Cersei is already gone, and he relies on his sword to feel alive even if it means going away on the inside from time to time. 

 

Until he can’t. For all his worth, he cannot comply with the cruelty he knows is coming. As he chooses not to, he’s acutely aware that this is the first decision he’s actually making in years. 

 

Until he’s captured by Robb Stark and treated like some dirty peasant in chains, dragged through the mud, body and honor (but his honor has been through much worse than mud). He can handle it, he thinks. 

 

Until he comes face to face with Brienne of Tarth and he has to re-navigate the decisions he’s made for his thirty and two years. The air of naivety clings to her, he thinks when she kneels in front of Catelyn Stark and pledges herself to finding the Stark girls. 

 

_What a foolish girl_ , he thinks, _to think there could be a happy ending_. The boy with the tourney sword doesn’t cross his mind at all. But something about her sticks to his soul, because he finds himself acting without thinking and he’s soon questioning his motives. 

 

She sits next to his side as she roasts a squirrel over the burning wood. 

 

“Who taught you to hunt, wench?” he thinks before realizing words spilled from his mouth. 

 

“No one,” she shifts in her seat and turns the meat. 

 

“Evidently. You didn’t even skin it properly,” he gestures toward the bloody fur on the ground. 

 

“Not all of us were afforded sword and hunting lessons,” she answers stiffly. 

 

He soon realizes that he sees the boy with the tourney sword in her and he wants to give her a wooden shield to match the sword, the shield he never had. But she’s not a boy he discovers when he spies her in the dark, free of the armor surrounding her body. She thinks he can’t see, but little does she know the wildfire from his past casts her in a new light until she’s all he can see.

 

Jaime thinks he’s being clever by luring Vargo Hoat with the sapphires. He owes it to her to at least try. He couldn’t protect the boy but he will protect her, he promises. 

 

He sees her in the dark, in the back of his closed eyes, in his dreams. Green eyes morph into blue ones and the blonde hair turns several shades lighter. 

 

We don’t get to choose who we love, he thinks. He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t recognize himself anymore, not because of his lost hand nor his gaunt figure. He doesn’t recognize himself because he can’t remember the last time he did something at the cost of losing himself. He doesn’t recognize himself because he feels more than just protection for Brienne of Tarth and that scares him. 

 

My name is Jaime, he says in her arms as he hopes she will recognize him for who he is, not who he was.

 

When he thinks of her, his chest tightens and he thinks _is this what they mean when they say heavy heart_? He wants to urge her to run far away from the Stark family because they will only bring grief and more suffering, but his wench is obstinate to her oath. For that, he rewards her with Oathkeeper and her eyes shine with honor. His honor, he thinks. She holds that in her hands now. It’s too much to place his honor in her hands, but who better than Brienne of Tarth to keep whatever is left of it? He won’t do it, no, he won’t burden her with anything other than his heart. 

 

When she leaves on horseback outfitted in his armor, he realizes she left with his faith too. He prays to the Warrior to keep her safe, damned be honor if it means she lives. 

 

The gods answer his prayer when she arrives in his tent at Riverrun and she tries to return Oathkeeper. 

 

“It’s yours. It will always be yours.” 

 

Unbeknownst to her, Jaime had charged her with another quest — to keep true to herself and keep his oath and his heart. 

 

When she leaves Riverrun on the rowboat, Jaime sends another prayer to the gods, this time to whoever’s listening, of thanks. He wishes it weren’t goodbye, not because the pain of his right hand was worse whenever he thinks of her, not because his heart drops to his gut when he thinks of her eyes, not because he sleeps soundly at night when she’s around, but because he finally recognizes the man he’s become when he’s by her side. 

 

This is why he leaves to go North after Cersei and her betrayal. 

 

He doesn’t remember falling in love, because he was born with a love shared between brother and sister. How can he remember what falling in love feels like when it never happened? 

 

Unlike Cersei, Brienne doesn’t consume him whole. She mends the broken parts of his heart together and it’s selfish of him to try to ask her to hold it. He wonders if he will ever be whole again or if Cersei will always have shards of his broken heart. He hopes they cut her open like they have him. He’s covered in bruises and scars of her wake, and that’s nothing he can offer Brienne. 

 

Until one night, he (almost) does. She smiles and he thinks he’s never seen her truly smile. She’s so radiant she reflects on him, and his heart feels light, fluttering alive in his chest like a butterfly. His heart feels almost whole again and he offers it to her with a jug of wine and a sorry excuse of the fire burning too hot, when it was his skin yearning to touch hers.

 

When they kiss, there’s an electricity that he’s never felt before in his life. Almost akin to holding a sword for the first time, but not quite. Every part of him is alive, from the skin on his fingertips touching her face, to his heart beating so wildly if it had a sound, it would sound like a Dothraki ululating. 

 

Maybe she hears it, because she pulls back from the kiss and he thumbs over her scarred cheek, almost afraid to lose any part of her.

 

“I’ll have you whole,” she says and he’s stricken. Has she been able to read his mind the whole time? She was made of magic, he knew it. 

 

Her eyes follow to his golden hand and she unclasps the belt around his arm and throws it to the ground. Brienne of Tarth never fails to surprise him, even in bed he thinks. He pushes her back to the bed and he continues their battle for love. 

 

He lies awake under the furs as he takes in what’s happened. 

 

It would be sweet, he thinks, to love her wholly. 

 

Something settles in his stomach and as the light from the fire fades, he remembers he cannot love wholly, not while Cersei holds part of him. He wants to think when he left King’s Landing, he left her behind but he knows she is in him. She has a part of his soul even if Brienne has his (mostly there) heart. He wonders if that would be enough. 

 

Before there was chaos. Now there is silence. He lies in bed a few weeks after the battle has died, Brienne at his side. Too much silence, he notes and thinks of his heart and soul because what else can he do in Winterfell?

 

_This is why the Stark men are always brooding_ , Jaime thinks. 

 

He turns to look at Brienne and she is sleeping soundly on her side. 

 

_How the tables have turned. She has gone from the brooding wench to the bed maid_ , he smirks. And then he doesn’t. Brienne is not a bed maid. She is a knight of the seven kingdoms. 

 

For now. 

 

He wonders if there will still be seven kingdoms when Cersei and Daenerys are done. 

 

He tries to sleep, but green flames burn his eyes and he is called to go south, from a higher force than his consciousness. 

 

When he is captured by the Unsullied, he thinks maybe this the gods’ revenge for his blasphemy. 

 

When he is in Cersei’s arms as the Red Keep tumbles down, he realizes it was her. She was calling to him, through some force higher than faith because Brienne held his. Brienne holds his heart, he realizes, in Cersei’s arms. She holds everything. What else can Cersei have other than his body? 

 

 

 

> Behold, the grave of a wicked man, 
> 
> And near it, a stern spirit. 
> 
> There came a drooping maid with violets, 
> 
> But the spirit grasped her arm. 
> 
> “No flowers for him,” he said. 
> 
> The maid wept: 
> 
> “Ah, I loved him.” 
> 
> But the spirit, grim and frowning: 
> 
> “No flowers for him.” 
> 
>  
> 
> Now, this is it — 
> 
> If the spirit was just, 
> 
> Why did the maid weep? 
> 
> \- Stephen Crane 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the above poem, but the focus is on jaime and his love


End file.
